


nothing better than love and service

by ericdire (aarobron)



Series: two of a kind beats all hands tonight [3]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Smut, and growing as a couple, but like nice smut, this is set a few months after the main fic so they're happy n healthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25091965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarobron/pseuds/ericdire
Summary: Virgil thinks that meetings are tedious. So, so tedious, and he's sat in one now, bored to tears and wanting to be anywhere else. He knows what he’s got waiting for him upstairs – Jordan, probably with little to no clothing on, stretched out in their bed. Warm rays of sun making his skin look golden, making the little hairs on his thighs glitter ethereally. Virgil knows what it looks like. The image is burnt into his mind because that’s how they’ve spent the last eighty four hours, ever since they moved in.It definitely doesn’t help that the representative the company sent is possibly the most boring man on the entire earth. Virgil is a trained fuckingchefand even he doesn’t get excited at the high quality of a certain type of beetroot, but clearly, this dull, white, old man has never even touched another human being, let alone had sex with them. Honestly, the way his eyes light up when he talks about Cylindra beetroot is the same way Virgil looks at Jordan when he’s got two fingers inside himself and his chest is all lovely and flushed.
Relationships: Virgil van Dijk/Jordan Henderson
Series: two of a kind beats all hands tonight [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794232
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	nothing better than love and service

**Author's Note:**

> hi! another sequel, this time nice and light and smutty.
> 
> feedback appreciated as always, thank you for reading! xxx

Virgil thinks that meetings are tedious. So, so tedious, and he's sat in one now, bored to tears and wanting to be anywhere else. He knows what he’s got waiting for him upstairs – Jordan, probably with little to no clothing on, stretched out in their bed. Warm rays of sun making his skin look golden, making the little hairs on his thighs glitter ethereally. Virgil knows what it looks like. The image is burnt into his mind because that’s how they’ve spent the last eighty four hours, ever since they moved in.

This meeting is tedious and he’d rather have the real thing under his hands instead, but unfortunately, he is the owner of a fairly successful cafe and he does actually need to sell food. A meeting about the products he cooks with is pretty important in the grand scheme of things.

(He does love his job. Really, he does. It’s his dream and he’s living it, and he’s so incredibly proud of The Collective. He’s proud because he and Jordan built it together, and that’s what means the most).

It definitely doesn’t help that the representative the company sent is possibly the most boring man on the entire earth. Virgil is a trained fucking _chef_ and even he doesn’t get excited at the high quality of a certain type of beetroot, but clearly, this dull, white, old man has never even touched another human being, let alone had sex with them. Honestly, the way his eyes light up when he talks about Cylindra beetroot is the same way Virgil looks at Jordan when he’s got two fingers inside himself and his chest is all lovely and flushed. 

It’s quite embarrassing, really. Virgil has never been more glad for the man who’s upstairs waiting for him.

Speak of the devil – his phone buzzes across the table, scaring the shit out of him. He’s pretty sure he manages to cover it and look as interested as he possibly can in fucking beetroot, but he chances a quick glance at the screen and sees Jordan’s name flashing across it. There’s a picture of him too, one from a few weeks ago, when they were learning about each other in a different way. It was one of the first times that Virgil had woken up before Jordan and he’d spent a long time memorising the careful splay of his eyelashes while he slept. When he eventually blinked himself awake, he was all sleepy soft and inviting, and he didn’t complain when Virgil rolled on top of him and snapped the picture.

It’s probably his favourite photo of anything in the entire world, if he’s being honest. 

The man (Virgil thinks his name is Colin. Or maybe Carl. Charles?) hasn’t even noticed, just carries on talking. Thankfully he’s moved onto carrots, which is only slightly less tedious than beetroot but still. Boring as fuck.

Virgil smiles patiently and gestures to his phone. “I’m sorry,” he says, polite as he can muster. Which isn’t much, really, but he’s quite good at hiding it. “I really do have to take this. It’s important, and I’m afraid it’s something that can’t wait.”

“Oh, of course,” Christopher says, although he does seem a little bit dejected. He’s so old that he probably doesn’t even know how to use a television, let alone a smartphone. “Don’t you worry about me! I’ll just finish my delicious coffee – you really do have to give me the name of your coffee bean supplier, by the way, it’s just-”

“Yes, of course,” Virgil says, picking his phone up and pushing his chair back. He has a feeling that if he doesn’t cut Clive off then he’ll never stop talking, and, well, Jordan is a much more preferable conversation partner. He slips into the kitchen and closes the door behind him, thanking god for the fact he got the kitchen soundproofed the last time he had the cafe done up. “I am in a meeting you know, Jordan.”

“I know you are,” Jordan says, laughing slightly. Of course he knows – Virgil hasn’t stopped complaining all morning. He sounds breathless, hitching audibly, and the grin is evident in his voice when he speaks again. “You’re taking too long.”

“He won’t stop fucking talking, Jord,” Virgil says, pressing his forehead against the cool tile on the walls. He runs a hand over his face, desperate to be upstairs and in bed. He knows that he promised he’d only be half an hour, but that’s because he thought this meeting would be _simple_. He didn’t know he’d be up against someone with a vegetable fetish. “I’m tempted to tell him to shove his aubergines where the sun doesn’t shine.” 

“Very kinky. Not sure he’d be into that though,” Jordan says patiently. Virgil can hear the sounds of the sheets rustling in the background and snapshots of the morning flash through his mind – Jordan on top of him, one hand planted firmly in the middle of his chest and laughing while he grinds his hips down, looking like everything that Virgil didn’t realise he’d always wanted. “You’re taking too long, Virgil.”

“I’ll be up as soon as I can,” Virgil says, making his voice as soft and placating as he possibly can. He wants to be with Jordan so much that it’s making his fingertips hurt, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He kind of really wants to use these suppliers, actually. “I promise, alright?”

“Not good enough,” Jordan hums, and Virgil can only imagine the glint in his eye. He curls his fingers into fists just to try and ignore the pins and needles in his palms. “You’ve got ten minutes, or I’m starting without you.” 

“That’s not fair!” Virgil says. He’s pouting but he can’t stop it, because it really, _really_ isn’t fair. Judging by the little gasps that Jordan is trying (and failing) to stifle, he’s already started, but Virgil doesn’t say anything. Instead, he wants to listen to them, to remember them and catalogue them, and never, ever forget them. “This is out of my control.”

“Nothing is out of your control,” Jordan says, letting out a tiny high pitched whine. If Virgil wasn’t listening so intently, he never would have heard it, but he does and he’s so glad, because it’s one of the most gorgeous things he’s ever heard. “Ten minutes, okay? I’ll be waiting.” 

“Fuck, okay,” Virgil says, suddenly snapping into gear. He pulls his phone away from his ear and fumbles with the screen, trying to get it to light up so he can hang up and wrap this stupid fucking meeting up. He holds it by his mouth with his thumb hovering over the red button. “Goodbye, J! Love you.” 

He doesn’t hear Jordan’s reply, because he’s already ended the call. He pushes through the door to the kitchen and apologises, saying that the matter was and still is urgent, and that he’s going to have to end things early. 

(Not that he thinks it’s early, though. In fact, it’s already gone on far too long for his liking).

Clement looks disappointed but nods and tells Virgil that they’ve got a deal. So, really, they could have finished this about, well, forty five minutes ago, but he definitely doesn’t say that and tries not to let the annoyance show on his face. He shakes Clifford’s hand and shows him to the door, mindful to not let it look like he’s trying to shove him out – although he definitely, absolutely is.

“Really, it was great to meet you,” Virgil says kindly, clasping his shoulder one last time. He’s so close to the finish line he can practically taste it. “And I’m so sorry that I had to cut things short. You’ll have to sample the dishes I’ve made with your ingredients next time, Chad!” 

“My name’s Cecil,” Claude says, eyeing Virgil with a turned up nose. It doesn’t matter though, not one bit, because the door is closed and the open sign is flipped the other way, and he’s fumbling in his pocket for the key. He doesn’t get very far because his phone vibrates next to his knuckles, and he swears as he pulls it out.

“Jordan,” Virgil says impatiently, putting him on speaker and carelessly placing the phone on the table next to him. He’s found his keys but now he can’t find the right one, shuffling through them impatiently. He really needs to mark which one is which. “I’m trying to lock up, for fucks sake.” 

“Well, you’re too late anyway,” Jordan gasps, and the sound of it makes the hairs on the back of Virgil’s neck stand up. He can already feel his dick stirring and the need to movegobethere _now_ is overwhelming at this point, and he makes a triumphant noise when he finally finds the right fucking key. “It’s been ten minutes. I’ve already started without you.”

“Jesus, Jord, that’s not fair,” Virgil says, but he hisses out a quiet little victory when he puts the key in the lock and hears it click. He grabs his phone off the table and flicks the light off when he heads out to the back, taking the stairs two at a time and trying not to trip. He can clean up after Carlton later. “I’ll be thirty seconds, don’t you dare do anything else without me.” 

“Too late,” Jordan says, and his laugh turns from tinny to real when Virgil pushes through the front door to the flat. He ends the call and throws his phone and his keys onto the sofa, not stopping for a moment. He’s on a mission, and he wants to touch his boyfriend as soon as he possibly can.

He only pauses when he steps into the bedroom and his gaze falls to Jordan. He looks incredible, splayed out on the bed with the sheets kicked to the side. The sunlight is creeping in through the gap in the curtains, lighting up a perfect path to the hand he’s got wrapped around his dick. He looks fucking perfect, and Virgil’s jaw drops, taking a shuffled step closer.

“No – stay where you are,” Jordan snaps, looking up at Virgil for the first time. He grins, the hand on his dick coming to a still, but not entirely. His thumb is still rubbing over the head of it like he needs that slight touch to keep himself going. He sounds so calm when he speaks again. Virgil doesn’t understand how. “You missed your opportunity, Virgil. Now you’re only allowed to watch.” 

“...What?” Virgil says eventually, a little bit in disbelief. Jordan is never, ever like this. He’s excited about the prospect of what’s about to happen though – definitely excited. His dick is aching against the zip of his jeans and he palms himself roughly, trying to take the edge off it. 

“No touching yourself, either,” Jordan says, voice softer this time. Still, Virgil’s hands drop to his sides, fingers flexing with the need to touch, but Jordan says he’s not allowed so he won’t. He thinks that he’d do anything that Jordan asked of him – even just standing in the same spot for however long he’s been told to. “Take your clothes off.”

“...What?” Virgil repeats. By this point, he’s just shocked to stillness, staring down at Jordan. He looks unbelievable, cheeks flushed and nipples hard and grin bright across his face. He’s taking control, and it suits him. Virgil hopes he gets to see more of it.

“I said take your clothes off,” Jordan says, mocking Virgil’s surprised voice. The sound of it makes Virgil’s jaw drop even further, but he toes his trainers off and kicks them under the bed, leaning down to take his socks off too. There’s not a doubt in his mind that Jordan doesn’t mean every word he’s saying. “Strip. I want to watch you strip.” 

“Okay,” Virgil whispers, straightening up and blinking slowly. He’s harder than he’s ever been before in his life but none of that seems to matter when Jordan is staring at him with dark, focused eyes. Like a spotlight that’s directly over Virgil, and the rest of the world fades to black. Jordan isn’t seeing anything else right now, and Virgil doesn’t want him to.

His fingers are shaking when he reaches up to the buttons on his shirt, brushing over the plastic lightly. He’s nervous, and he’s not afraid to admit it. Obviously, it’s not like Jordan has never seen him naked – multiple times, in a platonic setting and in a not so platonic setting (like this morning) – but this feels different. This is Jordan telling him what to do, watching every movement, judging him. Well, not judging him. Not properly. But using it to get off, because he finds Virgil _that_ attractive.

It’s a lot of responsibility, but one he’s willing to take on.

“Go on,” Jordan says softly, nodding encouragingly. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Virgil’s fingers, like he’s desperately waiting for his next move, and the pad of his thumb swipes over the precome at the head of his dick lazily. “Undo the buttons.”

Virgil nods and swallows, eyelids fluttering almost shut as he slips the first button through the hole. It doesn’t reveal much, just the start of the dips of his collarbones and the constellation of freckles on his sternum, but it’s enough that Jordan starts moving his hand again, up and down slowly, like he’s getting back into the rhythm of it. Virgil can’t stop watching the movement. 

“Keep going,” Jordan whispers. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as he watches Virgil undo the next two buttons, cataloguing every new mark and freckle and scratch that comes into view. He looks hungry, the depth of it shining in his eyes, and Virgil wants to be devoured. He wants Jordan to do whatever he pleases with him, and it’s a new feeling. Nobody else has ever given him this. Never in his entire life. 

He looks at Jordan from underneath his lashes as he unbuttons the next one, thumb running carefully down the material of his shirt. There’s only one button left and he feels a bit weird about it – because he doesn’t want this to be over too soon. He likes the attention, making the back of his neck feel hot and his mouth dry. He likes knowing exactly what he does to Jordan, and right now, there’s no way he couldn’t tell. 

“Last one,” Jordan says quietly, gasping a little when he twists his wrist in the right direction. Virgil watches his hand, the paleness of his fingers stark against the darkened red of his dick, his white knuckles. He knows how that hand feels, the calluses and the length of those fingers and the strength of the grip. He knows how it feels and he knows how it makes him feel, and he’s somehow glad that Jordan gets to feel it exactly for himself. “Come on, Virgil. Do as I said.” 

Virgil slips the last button through the hole and shivers when the cold air hits his bare skin as the shirt falls entirely open. He’s mostly clothed but he still feels exposed, because Jordan lets out a little whine when his gaze flickers over his hard nipples and flushed chest. His tongue darts out again, like he wants to trace a wet path over all the clusters of freckles, but he doesn’t move. 

“Take it off,” Jordan says, voice trembling when he speaks. His hips stutter up of their own accord, fucking into his fist, and Virgil lets out a harsh breath at the sight. He’s so hard that it hurts, but none of that matters when Jordan is looking at him like that. “Take your shirt off, Virgil.” 

He makes a show of it, lets the tips of his fingers brush over his chest as he pushes the material of his shirt over his shoulders, but he doesn’t let it drop to the floor. It’s his nicest shirt and he put it on because he wanted to make a good impression for beetroot man (Virgil can’t even remember his name at this point), so he takes his time, folds it nicely and places it on top of the dresser. When he turns back around, Jordan is shaking, squeezing the head of his dick like it’s all getting too much. 

“What next?” Virgil asks, playing along to the tiniest detail. Jordan’s mouth curves up into a small smile at the question and he shifts so he’s sitting up slightly, one leg bent at the knee while the other is stretched out in front of him. Virgil wants nothing more than to settle himself in the splay of his thighs.

“The button on your jeans,” Jordan says. He lets out a harsh breath when Virgil flicks the button open, fingertips trailing across the bare skin just above the waistband. It’s so close to where he wants to touch but still not enough. He knows he’s not going to get anything more, though. “Now the zip, please.” 

It’s so polite that Virgil can’t help but crack a smile. Even when he’s trying to be bossy, Jordan is still the kindest person that Virgil has ever met, and it’s one of the (hundreds and hundreds) of things that he loves about him. It’s so incredibly sweet, but he doesn’t want to break character so he dips his head carefully. 

“That’s it, that’s perfect,” Jordan purrs, tongue swiping along his bottom lip as he watches Virgil tuck his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans. They both know what’s coming next, holding their breath while they wait for it, and Virgil decides to drag it out. Makes a show of dragging his jeans over his hips, over the sharp juts of bone and the jagged scar that sits on his pubic line from the appendectomy he had when he was nineteen. He used to be self conscious about it, but Jordan has touched it enough that now he couldn’t care less. “Don’t be such a tease, Virgil. It doesn’t suit you.” 

Virgil feels vaguely offended but he files it away to ask Jordan what he means later. Right now, he’s happy to do as he’s told, so he shimmies his tight jeans over his thighs and smiles at Jordan's breathless laugh, cheeks flushed and heads ducked. The moment just adds to the whole experience, because this is them: best friends who turned into something more, who love each other in so many different ways, unreservedly, entirely. If Jordan ever feels like he can't laugh at Virgil struggling to get his clothes off before they have sex, then they're seriously doing something wrong.

Jordan's face settles back into neutrality and his gaze travels from Virgil's eyes to the rest of his body. He takes it slow, drinking in every little detail - the freckles, the scarred over burns, the small birthmark that sits in the dip of his collarbone - and Virgil can't help but flush under the attention, skin burning hot. He still can't say he hates it.

His gaze trips over Virgil’s hard nipples and then stutters back up, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip like if he was close enough, he’d put his mouth there. Virgil misses the feeling, to be honest, but he stays perfectly still so Jordan can carry on looking, over the jagged scar that stretches down his ribs from when they were climbing a splintered old tree well over a decade ago. His eyes go softer around the eyes when he follows the white line, like he’s remembering it, remembering all the hours Virgil spent in hospital, but Virgil doesn’t think he should be sad about it anymore. It’s just a reminder of the times they spent together.

Virgil hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers just to remind Jordan of where they are, what they’re doing. “Shit, sorry,” Jordan says, snapping out of it. He meets Virgil’s gaze and his eyes are clearer now, like he’s back in the room. “Just got a bit –” 

“It’s okay,” Virgil says softly, because it really is. It’s hard not to think about things when they’ve got so much history between them. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Jordan says. The smile is back on his face now and his eyes are a shade darker, and he tightens the hand he’s got wrapped around his dick. They’re alive, they’re here, and they both want each other more than anything. That’s what matters right now.

Jordan’s gaze falls down to Virgil’s stomach, following the dark trail of hair that disappears under the waistband of his boxers. And then even further down, to where there’s a dark spot on the material, wet from the head of Virgil’s dick rubbing up against it. Jordan lets out a harsh breath and starts fucking up into his fist again, hips rolling gorgeously. Virgil wants to feel them under his hands, to feel the muscles shifting against his palms.

“Take them off,” Jordan whispers, nodding towards Virgil’s hips. His voice sounds hoarse from the effort of holding himself back, shaking on every other syllable when his wrist twists on the upstroke, and he doesn't move his gaze away when Virgil drags his boxers down his thighs.

It’s weird. Jordan has seen his body so many times over the past thirteen years – they showered together this morning, for fucks sake – but it’s never been like this. It’s never been Jordan watching him so carefully, taking in every little detail and memorising it. It’s never been Jordan with a hand on his own dick, getting off on how turned on Virgil is just by watching him. It’s never quite meant this much, or had this much pressure, but he loves the way it feels.

He kicks his boxers off and straightens his spine, standing proudly with his hands crossed behind his back. His dick is bobbing against his stomach, smearing wet through the hairs there, but he doesn’t say a word, just juts his chin up like it’s a challenge, and meets Jordan’s gaze. There’s no backing down now. He’s all in.

He knows what he looks like because he’s seen himself in the mirror, but the look on Jordan’s face tells him that he has no idea.

“God, look at you,” Jordan says, voice shaking at the end. He sounds wrecked. Virgil wants to know what the words taste like. “You’re so hard and you’ve not even touched yourself. It must be so painful. Does it hurt?” 

“Yes,” Virgil says honestly, because there’s no point in lying now. He’s quite literally baring everything for Jordan to see and there’s nowhere to hide. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. 

“Good boy,” Jordan says, lifting his stare to meet Virgil’s eyes. He sounds so sincere that it makes a lump rise in Virgil’s throat, but he fights it away, blinks and focuses on the movement of Jordan’s hand. He’s losing the rhythm now, getting sloppy and shaky, but it makes it all that more attractive. “You’ll be able to touch yourself soon, I promise. Tell me what you want to do to me.” 

“What?” Virgil asks, tearing his gaze away from Jordan’s fist. He looks up, feeling disorientated. He got so wrapped up in watching Jordan touch himself that he forgot where he was for a moment. It makes him feel weird when he comes back to reality, a shiver travelling down his spine.

“Pay attention when I’m speaking to you,” Jordan chastises. His voice is soft but Virgil can’t help but cling onto every word he says anyway, swallowing harshly while he nods. Jordan seems satisfied and he smiles slightly. “I said, tell me what you want to do to me.”

“I want to fuck you,” Virgil says. This time, it’s his turn for his voice to shake, and his fingers flex of their own accord. He wraps them around his wrists so he doesn’t get tempted to do something stupid like reach out, and carefully watches Jordan as he thrusts into his own fist. “I want to fuck you, and I want to make you feel the way you’re making yourself feel right now. No – I want to make you feel better than that. I want to make you feel so good that you can’t remember your own name, and you’re holding onto me for dear life. I want you to know that you’re mine and nobody else’s.” 

“I’ve always been yours,” Jordan whispers, and smirks when the words make Virgil’s dick twitch against his stomach. It’s obvious that he said it to cause a reaction, but Virgil knows that he meant it. Jordan doesn’t say things if he doesn’t mean them – it’s one of the things that Virgil loves most about him. “Fuck – _fuck_ , I’m close.” 

“I want to put my mouth on you, taste your skin,” Virgil says, carrying on because he sees the drop of precome that rolls down the length of Jordan’s dick. He glances up from underneath his eyelashes and sees Jordan’s eyes fixed on his mouth, and makes a show of swiping his tongue across his bottom lip. “Mark you. Press on the bruises so you feel the ache, and do all of that while I’m inside you. I want you to feel everything, and not know what to do with it."

Jordan’s free hand comes up to tangle in his own hair and his breaths are coming quicker now – little _ah-ah-ah_ sounds that go straight to Virgil’s dick. He looks unbelievable; eyes squeezed shut tight and mouth bitten red, chest flushed and dick wet. Virgil can’t wait to touch him, knows that it’s going to be soon. He’s almost shaking with excitement.

“Fuck, _Virgil_ ,” Jordan gasps, repeats Virgil’s name again, but it filters off into a broken moan, and then a harsh cry when he twists his wrist and comes. Virgil swallows, jaw dropped while he watches, and curls his toes into the carpet. 

He’s seen Jordan come before, but never like this. He’s not been able to take it in properly: the beautiful little ‘o’ that his mouth forms, the way his skin flushes to a lovely shade of pink, the tiny raw noises he lets out that Virgil wants to keep forever. He watches streaks of come hit Jordan’s chest and digs his fingernails into the soft flesh of his thighs to stop himself from coming just from the sight of it. 

And then it’s all over. Just like that, Jordan stops moving, laying flat against the bed with his chest heaving. He’s still got a hand around his dick but the grip of his fist is loose now, and he closes his eyes, swallowing harshly. He doesn’t make a single move to get up and clean up, and the come must be drying on his skin uncomfortably.

Virgil decides that he’s tired of waiting. 

He steps closer. His knees are shaking but he makes the short journey through sheer willpower alone, feeling relief flood his body when he reaches the edge of the mattress and can kneel on the bed. Jordan finally opens his eyes, smiling up at Virgil with a soft fondness around his mouth, and reaches out to wrap his fingers around his wrist. He pulls Virgil on top of him and he goes willingly, finally getting a hand on Jordan’s skin, curling it around his cheek and feeling the warmth that radiates off of him. 

“Hello,” Jordan whispers, lips curved up into a kind smile. His eyes are bright and his breath stutters slightly as the tips of Virgil’s fingers drag through the streaks of come on his sensitive skin, trying (and failing) to hold back a needy whine, and that’s all it takes. That’s all Virgil needs, and he shakes off Jordan’s grip, sitting up on his knees.

Jordan looks confused for all of three seconds, but then Virgil gets both hands around his waist and hauls him onto his lap. Jordan laughs, surprised, but his arms come up to curl around Virgil’s shoulders and he tips his head forward to kiss him, deep and heated. He uses the grip he’s still got on Jordan’s hips to shift him until his legs are splayed each side of Virgil’s thighs, his own still aching dick sliding against the crease of his thigh. It’s so ridiculously _comfortable_ that he’s not quite sure why he didn’t realise how much he wanted Jordan sooner. 

The way they fit together is perfect. Virgil hates to be a cliche but it’s like Jordan was made for him and he was made for Jordan, and he really doesn’t understand how he didn’t see it. It was obvious, right under his nose for the past thirteen years. Back in the present, he slides his hands down the planes of Jordan’s back and grins when the tips of his fingers slot into the dimples at the bottom of it, flattening his palm so he can pull Jordan even closer.

His fingers slide lower, dipping into the crease of his arse. Jordan gasps, high pitched and close to Virgil’s ear, and the sound is so fucking gorgeous that Virgil’s dick twitches where it’s trapped between them. He loves this side of Jordan, loves knowing that nobody else gets to see it. It’s all his – no compromises. He presses the pad of his finger against Jordan’s hole and pulls away in surprise to look at the older man, who is smirking, looking so proud of himself. Somehow, that look makes him even more attractive. 

“I already did it,” Jordan whispers, leaning close to speak directly into Virgil’s ear. His teeth graze the shell of it and it makes Virgil shudder, slipping two fingers inside Jordan just to hear the breath he stutters out. “Got – _fuck_ – got tired of waiting for you. Just needed to do something.” 

Virgil hums. He doesn’t know whether he’s pleased or not, because there’s something special about seeing Jordan, splayed across the mattress and shaking, coming undone from Virgil’s fingers. There’s something special about having that much power over him, pulling him apart just to put him back together again. But it’s also special knowing that Jordan did it to himself, thinking about Virgil and stopping himself from coming. That’s special in its own way.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Virgil whispers, and he barely waits for Jordan’s reply before he’s pulling his fingers out, wiping them on the sheets and pushing at the thick muscle of Jordan’s arse to lift him up. He curls his fingers around his own dick and then guides Jordan back down, until he’s bottomed out and his eyes are dark, so much darker than Virgil has ever seen them.

He’s not even hard anymore, cock sitting soft against his thigh, but judging by the way his mouth parts and his breaths become uneven, he’s just as affected. His fingernails dig into the back of Virgil’s neck and he kisses him messily, rocking back and forth slightly like the stillness is unbearable. He’s probably been ready for hours – ever since Virgil left the flat and went down to the cafe. 

The thought turns Virgil on even more.

“Do it,” Jordan hisses, nails pressing even harder into the soft skin on Virgil’s nape. There’s a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, over his jaw and down his neck like the effort of holding back is physically painful. Virgil puts his tongue there, tastes the saltiness and then bites hard enough to mark, right over the pulse point on his throat. He can feel Jordan’s heartbeat, rapid and out of sync, and loves the way it flutters against his tongue. “Move, Virgil, _move_.” 

Virgil does as he’s told, fingertips pressing bruises into Jordan’s hips. He lifts him up until his dick is almost all the way out and then pulls him back down harshly, hitting his prostate on the first attempt. Jordan's head falls back, letting out a long, breathy whine, but he's grinning. He looks like the cat that got the cream.

He sets up a steady rhythm, hard and unrelenting, and it's even better when Jordan drives his hips down to meet each thrust. He's hard again, the head of his dick dragging against Virgil's stomach every time he moves, smearing wet there. Virgil gets a hand between their bodies and rubs the pads of his fingers over the tip of it, just for the way Jordan's cheeks flush red at the action.

“You’re so beautiful,” Virgil murmurs, pressing his mouth against the hollow of Jordan’s throat. The older man laughs, breathless and beautiful, and Virgil treasures the sound. Bites down at the soft skin there just to hear the moan he lets out, and grinds his hips up. “Gobby, but beautiful.” 

“Fuck off,” Jordan snaps, but it’s breathless and the sting is taken out of it. He lets out gorgeous little noises as Virgil nips at his throat and leaves bruises, still fucking him senseless. “Are you going to hurry up and get me off or not?” 

“Already did,” Virgil reminds him, and he tunes out Jordan’s protests (because apparently he got himself off, but they’ll have to agree to disagree) and gets a hand around Jordan’s dick. He swipes his thumb over his head just to feel it pulse in his hand, and then surges up to kiss Jordan quickly.

The shape and weight of Jordan’s dick is familiar by now, but it still feels like a treat to get to do this. Jordan at his most vulnerable, his most beautiful – in what world would that not be a treat? He’s the luckiest person in the entire world and he tells Jordan as much, and gets a sweet little kiss in return. 

It doesn’t take long after that. Virgil feels it first, familiar heat building up in his stomach and coiling tight around his organs, and he tucks his face into Jordan’s neck as his hips freeze. Jordan grinds right back down, deeper than every other thrust, and holds Virgil’s face, whispering, “I love you.” 

He comes, holding Jordan’s body close to his own.

Through the white haze, he feels Jordan come too. Fingernails digging little crescent shaped marks into Virgil’s shoulders. Muscles squeezing tight around Virgil’s dick. A gorgeous little cry falling out of his mouth, and then streaks of his come hitting Virgil’s chest. Messy, but so worth it.

“God,” Jordan breathes. He’s the first one out of the two of them to come back to himself, and he wraps his arms loosely around Virgil’s body while he catches his breath, pressing a firm kiss to his temple. “Not bad, you know. You’re getting better.”

There’s a little bit of a delay, but eventually Virgil processes what he’s said. “ _Not bad_?” He asks, pinching Jordan’s hip. He’s still inside the older man and it’s getting a little bit uncomfortable, dick softening, but also the intimacy feels incredible. They’re practically the same person, and neither of them seem to mind. “You’re the one that always reminds me that I’m the best you’ve ever had. You can take your not bad and shove it.” 

“Pedantics,” Jordan says distantly, and he grumbles a little bit when Virgil adjusts them so they’re laying flat. He lets out a slutty little moan when Virgil pulls out and pouts when he climbs off the bed, but he must know the schedule by now. Virgil cleans him up, decides the bathroom is too far, and then slips back under the duvet.

He’s waiting with his arms open when Virgil gets back in bed, and the younger man feels his entire face soften when he sees it. He loves seeing Jordan be unapologetically open about their relationship, about his feelings – especially the ones he has for Virgil. There’s no denying that the start of their relationship has been a bit of a bumpy road, but it’s worth it now. It’s so worth it now that Jordan is happy and mentally healthy, and loves Virgil without feeling guilty for it.

“Hi,” Jordan says, pulling Virgil about until they’re both in comfortable positions. Heads on the same pillow, noses bumping, legs tangled, hands joined between them. Virgil only has to push through a tiny bit of space to kiss him, so he does. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Virgil whispers, kissing him again. Being in love with Jordan is an incredible thing, special and visceral, and he’s almost gutted that he didn’t realise it for a long time. It’s just wasted memories, really, because while they were kicking about as best friends, it could’ve been something more. It could have been _everything_.

But still, they’re here now.

And if Virgil had it his way, they’d never leave this bed again. It’s his happy place, the only time he’s ever felt complete. Jordan is the other half of his whole.

Even if he is a little shit sometimes – Virgil still loves him more than he ever thought he had the capacity for.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ [georginiwijnaldum](https://georginiwijnaldum.tumblr.com/) xo


End file.
